My Love
by bittersweetmelody47
Summary: Ichabod reminisces on the memories he had with Katrina in Sleepy Hollow, and what made him fall in love with her. Oneshot. Please read and review! Edit: New Author's Note
1. Chapter 1

_My Love_

an Ichabod and Katrina romance/drama

By: bittersweetmelody47

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sleepy Hollow. I would have loved to own Johnny Depp, though. ;)

Okay, this is based on the movie. This is just something I've thought up at one in the morning, and this is my first Sleepy Hollow fic. Also, I have this oneshot take place during winter, even though at the end of the movie it was spring or something. So, just go with it. :)

* * *

_" Love is a red rose given for no apparent reason."_

_-- Unknown_

Ichabod Crane let his dark eyes gaze lightly out the paned window from his bedroom, the window seat soft and comforting beneath him. It was late, probably around four in the morning, and he found himself unable to sleep. It was his first night back in New York, and the images and words that were presented and spoken to him during the past week and a half replayed themselves in the realms of his jumbled mind. The room had a peculiar quietness about it, provided from the reassuring snowflakes dropping from the sky. The streetlights ignited the white, sheeted road outside below him like a blazing fire. Winter had always been his favorite season; he was a peaceful, shy person at heart and the shh shhing sounds of the wind exhaling a heavy breath in the atmosphere making the tiny teardrops of snow envelop his body and senses had always added to that calmness. It was like winter had spoken for him in terms of his personality, shouting to the environment surrounding him that he was its twin. The only time he could ever truly relax was like this: just staring out the window of his home at the acts that winter performed while everyone was asleep, tight and snug in their beds.

He had gone to Sleepy Hollow on unsure and unsteady steps to try to uncover the mystery behind the killings there that rendered everybody in the town shaky and sleeping fitfully. Never had he imagined what he would discover in that town. A smile pursed his lips as he remembered his very first reaction when he was told of the townpeople's opinions that the murderer was a headless horseman. He was stubborn at that time, and refused to believe that instead of a regular person a headless horseman was the ultimate culprit behind all those heinous, unmerciful acts. How could it have been so? A beheaded ghost being able to chop off the heads of the people that resided in that town? But as time went on it was proved to be exactly the case. He had met the headless horseman face to face as, out of supreme fear, he watched its victims be killed right before his eyes, him helpless to them.

He had seen so many things that no one should ever see in the duration of their life. He had watched the lives of people get snagged away from them, and had almost become one of them at the end. The true face of the headless horseman, with his malicious blue eyes and sharp, pointed teeth, would always be branded in his mind. You don't see something that evil and terrifying and just simply wipe it from your memory. When he closed his eyes he could still see Lady Van Tassel's long finger from her pale hand beckon slowly at him from within the roots of that tree and whenever he did, he was reminded of his mother, and how she, a warm smile gracing her face, had beckoned to him next to the fireplace. And he still remembered how he had watched in horror when the headless horseman had wrenched Katrina's head back and was about to bring the brandished sword of his down upon it. He had managed to divert the headless horseman's attention, and Katrina was dropped to the ground unscathed. Out of all of the haunting memories he had from his stay in Sleepy Hollow, that memory, the one where his beloved Katrina almost had her precious life taken away, had scared him the most.

Ah, Katrina. She was a gem to gaze upon. When he had first seen her at that party on the first night he arrived in the town, his breath was literally taken away. She was participating in a somewhat childish sort of game, but this profound maturity seemed to radiate from her. A pink cloth blindfold enclosed over her upper face, shielding her eyes, and she spun around, her arms outstretched, and her long blonde hair flew away from her head and face.

" The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch, who's got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?" She had chanted playfully, spinning around more and more as the people surrounding her snickered lowly and the men cautiously moved backwards out of reach of her lunging hands.

He was unbelievably captivated by her joyousness and innocence. Without realizing it, he moved closer, and, to his surprise, she took ahold of his face with her hands, a thin smile upon her lips. Her hands were smooth and delicate to the touch, a feminine touch he had never really had, except from his mother. Someone had asked her to voice out who she thought it was.

" Is it Theodore?" She had inquired, her young voice music to his ears.

A general laugh had shattered the air.

" Pardon, ma'am." He had declared, hoping he sounded unaffected and not meek, like he really was within his heart. " I am only a stranger."

He expected she would have taken her hands away quickly, but instead she had replied, " Then have a kiss on account."

She raised up on her tipoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her lips lingering there a second too long. An instant attraction to her had sparked from Ichabod and he could feel his eyes widening as they always did when either embarrassed or shocked.

He would always remember how taken aback he was by her beauty when she withdrew her hands from his face and tugged the cloth blindfold off her head. Her light brown eyes shined with a fire, an etching in her eyes that revealed a true, caring soul. He had tried to compose himself the best he could.

Yet Ichabod could not resist her sweet charm and jubilant expression. Her eyes continued to bore into his, waiting for him to utter his next words. He was sure that she was the replica of an angel.

He had disturbed her one night when she was in a room reading. He had not known she was there, but she was, her blonde locks cascading down her back. She had invited him in graciously, and he found himself so entranced by her to the point that he could not refuse. After a while, she had taken notice of his dotted scars upon each of his hands. She touched them lightly, trailing her fingers softly around each scar.

" These scars. How did you get them?" She had asked, concern laced in her tone. Something else was there as well. Amusement, perhaps?

Ichabod had discovered it really hard to come up with a response. He knew exactly how he had been unfortunate enough to receive the scars, but he wouldn't tell. Better yet, he couldn't.

" I have had them since childhood. I cannot remember what from." He muttered, unable to ignore the hot tingling sensation in his veins that she had passed on from her hands, and that when she finally took her hands away, how he seemed to miss it.

Afterward, she had handed him her mother's book. " Take this. It is my gift for you." She had offered.

It was a book about spells and charms. Words of a decline stumbled out of his mouth to which Katrina had curtly replied, " Are you so certain of everything?"

He was temporarily unable to reply.

" Keep it close to your heart. It's sure protection against harm." Katrina had then informed him.

Ichabod had no choice but to accept with a smile and retrieve the book from her hands, but not before saying, " Are you so certain of everything?"

Katrina had smiled pleasantly, and at that moment Ichabod realized that her smile, and not the book, was the best gift she could ever give him.

He was not too sure that she was as fond of him as he was her, but he had received his answer when he saw that she had followed him into the western woods, when he thought that only the loyal Masbeth would be accompanying him.

" Because no one else would go with you." She had answered when he had asked why she followed him.

That was how Ichabod knew she had loved him.

He had relished her touch more and more as the days went by. At one time, when he had woken up from one of his nightmares concerning his childhood and the horrid fate of his mother, he had jolted up with a gasp, and landed right in the loving arms of Katrina. She had been sitting on his bed for quite a while. He held onto her, burying his face into her shoulder as he realized how he longed for a warm embrace like the one she was offering him. She rubbed his back soothingly, and he took in a whiff of her sunshine colored hair, it smelling like flowers. Then she had pulled back to look into his eyes. His dark brown eyes met her light ones.

" Perhaps there isa little bit of the witch in you, Katrina." He had exclaimed softly.

" Why do you say that?" She had asked, confused.

" Because you have bewitched me." He had answered truthfully, all modestness disappearing.

To his happiness, she had smiled, the smile lighting up her face beautifully, and pulled him close to her again.

After the whole ordeal with the headless horseman was extinguished for good, he and Katrina had gotten married in Sleepy Hollow. Now, they had moved into this house in New York. Katrina, to his delight, was willing to the change and was more than happy to leave Sleepy Hollow. And could he blame her?

Masbeth lives with him and Katrina as well. Masbeth had no one, and Ichabod was too fond of the boy to leave him behind in Sleepy Hollow. He had stuck by Ichabod, when everyone else was too afraid. Masbeth had the courage and perserverance to assist him in Sleepy Hollow, and Ichabod will always be grateful to him.

Ichabod's mind wandered back to the present time. He blinked, and continued to look out the window, a content sigh emitting from his lips. The snow had lessened, and the night was still and undisrupted. No footsteps had penetrated into the road's pure coat of snow, and the roads, as Ichabod watched, glistened like pearls. It was as if a charitable soul had sprinkled glitter onto the road, like it was reserved as part of a fairy tale world. He imagined an angel spreading it on the road, her hand small and fingers nimble, and her face... was that of Katrina's. His eyelids began to droop, sleep now ready to announce itself. He opened them again as he heard the low, distinct sound of the rustling of covers. His eyeswavered on the form of Katrina, laying peacefully in their bed. Her blonde curls were splayed over the pillow and her rosy lips were parted slightly. Her porcelain complexion shined from her like the moon would shine in a pitch black night, and her soft hands were joined together, resting on her stomach. Ichabod couldn't prevent the smile that now creased his lips. He looked forward more than anything to having children with her and spending the rest of his life with her. He could think of absolutely no one else to do those things with, nor did he prefer it.

He lifted off from the window seat quietly and approached his side of the bed. He slipped between the covers and turned to his side to where he was facing Katrina. She shifted slightly to the new weight he had given to the bed, but became still once again, lost deep in her slumber. He resisted the temptation to smooth back her silky hair and instead, placed his arm lightly across her stomach, close to where her hands resided. He closed his eyes and his thoughts, as always, remained on Katrina. She was the best angel there could ever be. She was _his_ angel.

He felt himself beginning to drift away to a deep state of sleep and dreams, and his last thought was how he was happily expecting Katrina's light brown eyes to reveal themselves in the morning, along with that loving grin that would caress her face. He then finally fell asleep, already not being able to wait for the morning.

_Finis_


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

I just saw the movie again and want those of you who read this to know that I do realize I have a few mistakes in my references to flashbacks. Katrina's blindfold was gold, not pink, and Katrina had taken notice of the scars upon Ichabod's hands when they were outside looking at the fireplace that had the archer on it, and not in the house, before she gave him her mother's book, like I had said. How Ichabod had replied to her inquisition was also wrong in my story, but it was somewhat along those lines. I think he said, " I have had them for as long as I can remember" or something like that. So, sorry about that. But one good thing I noticed is that I was actually right about it being winter, so yay for me :) Anyway, thanks for reading!

-- bittersweetmelody47


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